


Encumbrance

by ThePunkiest



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:23:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5802382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePunkiest/pseuds/ThePunkiest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having responsibility for the lives around you proves endlessly more difficult than simply having responsibility for yourself. You knew everything that would happen, from Snowdin to Undyne to Asgore. You were the answer to the resets. But unlike Frisk, you only had one chance. My tumblr: https://luminariousros.tumblr.com/</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bête Noire

The characters; your friends, you, you, her. They.

 

You knew what was happening. Had seen it times before, choosing what to do, creating ruin… And paradise.

 

You always fell back down.

 

She plummeted back.

 

She didn’t speak, you spoke for her. They couldn’t hear you. You tried other means of communication.

 

Stories? Pictures? Music?

 

They were roadways to their lives.

 

You tried harder to reach them; they receded from you faster.

 

You had had enough.

 

You stopped.

 

**…**

 

You started, again.

 

Spoke with them again. Laughed, cried.

 

Was about to stop, once more.

 

But?

 

She turned around when you hovered over the X.

 

And stared.

 

“Take responsibility.”


	2. Infelicitous

Sounds rushed and expunged around you, through you. You were not lucid, must not be; a dream?

 

Your eyelids fluttered.

 

You clicked the X, and let Undertale close. Toby Fox must have added more easter eggs to the game than anybody had expected.

 

The clock in the bottom right of your screen read 2:55 AM.

 

“Nearly the witching hour,” you said to the darkness inhabiting your bedroom.

 

You were sleepy. The day had been long and meaningless, cold, unproductive.

 

As usual.

 

Life was an endless cycle of useless days. And so, sleep beckoned a tired, grey hand.

 

You moved your mouse to the SHUT DOWN button and clicked it.

 

Waited for the screen to fade.

 

Waited.

 

Waited.

 

Your computer had bluescreened.

 

Why?

 

You did not touch anything as you waited for the computer to restart.

 

Waited, and read the code on the monitor.

 

0100010101010010010100100100111101010010

 

0101001101001000010101010101010001000100010011110101011101001110001000000100100101001110010101000100010101010010010100100101010101010000010101000100010101000100

 

0100110001001111010000010100010001001001010011100100011100111010001000000100011100101110001000000100000100101110001000000101001100101110001000000101010000101110001000000100010100101110001000000101001000101110

 

You closed your eyes while waiting.

 

You were _so tired._

 

You opened them again, and found

 

                A            

 

                                Hand.

 

You did not have time to scream as you were pulled through your computer screen.

 

The clock read 3:00 AM.


	3. Consternation

The black was circambient.

 

Your throat was pinched, swollen from fear.

 

Where were you?

 

You floated in the black, not moving, not breathing, unseeing.

 

"Help..." you whispered, unknown.

 

"Help me."

 

**...**

 

The kid had collapsed.

 

Sans rushed home from the general store, arms full of novelty human medicine, hoping against all hope that _maybe_ some of them would help.

 

Papyrus met him as he reached the door, and ushered him inside. "She's fevered," Papyrus said as they walked quickly to their couch, and knelt to see the tiny child nestled in a cluster of blankets and pillows.

 

The child opened her soft brown eyes and reached for Sans, her minuscule hands open and grasping.

 

"It's okay, kid," Sans muttered with an uneasy smile as he read the descriptions on the assortment of bottles he had, "It's gonna be okay, you'll see."

 

The child opened her mouth to say something, but as always, her voice only managed to eek out a grunt. Papyrus gently stroked the girl's soft hair, and muttered something under his breath.

 

The child's eyes closed again, and her breathing began to slow.

 

Sans looked up from the medicine bottles and slowly popped off the top of one which had all of the symptoms Frisk had on it's side.

 

Papyrus looked over to the bottle his brother was holding, and asked, "Will that help?"

 

Sans shrugged.

 

"Hope so."

 

**...**

 

The black was starting to thin out into a dull, steel grey.

 

You blinked your eyes and looked around you, though nothing had changed but the colour.

 

You closed your eyes.

 

"Fuck."

 

**...**

 

Hours had passed since Frisk had fainted.

 

Neither Papyrus nor Sans had left her side since.

 

Papyrus had managed to crawl onto the couch and was cradling the child close to his body, the heat from his bones warming her.

 

Sans sat against the couch and stared into the quiet dark, waiting up to see if Frisk needed anything while she slept.

 

Sans was worried.

 

This had never happened in the past.

 

He was scared for the little girl's life.

 

Sans closed his eyes.

 

"Fuck."


	4. Moratorium

You did not try to move for the time you were in the grey space.

 

There was nothing, nowhere you could see, go to.

 

You had no choice but to stay where you were and hope to invoke God’s intervention.

 

There was no other way to escape.

 

Tears of chagrin started to escape your dull eyes as you pondered your fate;

 

Would you breathe your last breath, here, in a variance of purgatory?

 

Wait, _were you dead?_

 

A groan of pure panic wretched itself from your throat, and you cried harder.

 

“Please, anyone! Anybody!” You wailed into the great grey mass,

 

“Get me out of here!"

 

**…**

 

Frisk had awoken screaming.

 

Sans had somehow drifted off to a fitful sleep sometime after 4 AM and stayed there.

 

Papyrus had screeched in terror when Frisk’s small voice had started to wail so closely to his head.

 

“Human! Frisk!” Papyrus had called out, fearful for his ward.

 

He hugged the child closer and rocked her small body close to his own, tears of despair twinkling in his eye sockets.

 

Sans had bolted up and had his powers at the ready, ripe to be used.

 

Luckily, Papyrus had been too busy with Frisk to notice.

 

Sans whirled around to face his brother and the human, chest heaving.

 

“What? Frisk, kid, what?”

 

Sans knelt down to the couch and encircled Frisk and his brother in his arms, hugging them close.

 

Papyrus was shaking like a leaf, and Frisk was still emitting strangled noises deep in her throat.

 

Sans daren’t let go.

 

He cared too much.

 

**…**

 

You had slept.

 

You only knew this when you had woken up, and your eyes felt groggy.

 

“Urgh…” You groaned, and rubbed your eyes.

 

You were still in the grey mass.

 

Your fear had faded away to a fierce, pulsing anger sometime before you fell asleep.

 

You felt your blood pressure rise with rage.

 

“Let me out…” You hissed to the space around you.

 

“LET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” You screamed, angry, upset, exhausted despite your sleep.

 

Nothing answered you.

 

You were _mad._

 

**…**

 

Frisk had taken some of the medicine Sans had scrupulously chosen for her, and had nodded when Papyrus asked her if she felt any better.

 

She had even managed to get off of the couch on her own, although she needed help to make it to the kitchen.

 

Sans had taken the initiative and had prepared some chicken soup for the child; old videos from the surface often had sick people drinking it, so wouldn’t it help?

 

Frisk ate slowly under the watchful eyes of Papyrus. He helped her hold the spoon with an ungloved hand when her trembles started up again, and ended up fully feeding her when she was shaking so badly soup fell off the spoon.

The child did not eat much, but it was enough for her to smile weakly at them in thanks.

 

The brothers’ grins had fallen since Frisk had collapsed, but brightened once more when she smiled at them.

 

Papyrus carried Frisk back to the couch, and sat down with her between his legs.

 

Sans sat next to them.

 

They watched old human movies until Frisk fell asleep again.

 

**…**

 

Something had changed.

 

There was a light.

 

You squinted into the distance, interested.

 

A way out?

 

Your rage had dulled to a piercing despair, painful.

 

“Is something there?” You blinked tears of hope from your eyes.

 

You tried to move your suspended body forward, as if swimming, but only managed to spin head over heels in a slow arc.

 

You groaned.

 

_‘Fuck this,’_ you thought, and were about to open your mouth to curse at whatever was keeping you there, but

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Your breath died **.**


	5. Cognizance

The world was drowning in

 

Breathlessness, chills, pain.

 

A cough rattled your chest, thorough and profound. You frantically tried to pull air deep into your lungs, tried to catch a full breath, though your chest felt as if it was locked in a steel vice.

 

As if in another, more wistful realm of existence, you imagined a pair of thin, boney arms encircling you and holding you close.

 

Your coughs eased, and you wearily settled into the strange embrace.

 

**…**

Papyrus gazed down at the child sleeping in his arms and sighed.

 

His brother had fallen asleep sometime after “ _Mettatonnic 2:_ _The Mettaning”,_ and Papyrus was not eager to rouse him from his peaceful slumber.

 

Frisk had fallen asleep in his arms, and he had laid down once again with her cradled close to him.

 

Papyrus exhaled shakily as Frisk’s frame shook with wheezy breaths that rattled her entire body.

 

Papyrus was petrified.

 

There was so little known about humans since The Fall; it had happened centuries ago, and all knowledge about humans had faded with the passing of time.

 

Papyrus did not know how to care for the child. He did not know if he could save her.

 

Soundless tears bloomed from his eyes and trickled onto the sleeping child’s face.

 

**…**

Frisk did not wake for a day.

 

She did not stir when Papyrus gently rocked her, nor when Sans gently called her name.

 

The brothers were frantic.

 

Sans left for Alphys’ lab to pour over the few human medical books that were in the Underground.

 

Papyrus waited for Frisk to wake up.


	6. Rara Avis

 

The world was dull and grey when you woke.

 

For a fleeting moment, worriment overtook you; were you somehow whisked back to the grey space?

 

You bolted up from the space you were laying on, and frantically glanced around.

A television sat atop a low table across the room, a kitchen to the right, stairs to the left.

 

You released a breath.

 

You were home.

 

_It had been a dream._

 

Fingers ran over your eyelids, rubbing away the great amount of sleep that had built up, and you yawned.

 

**_“Frisk?”_ **

 

All movement from you ceased.

 

You looked to the other end of the couch.

 

**…**

Frisk was _awake._

Papyrus felt tears trickle down his cheekbones and he reached for the child.

 

Frisk did not move.

 

She stared.

 

“Frisk?” Papyrus asked, flummoxed. She had never simply gazed at him before, not even when they first met.

 

Papyrus reached out again for the child, but as he stretched out his arm,

 

“Paps!”

 

Sans burst through the front door and quickly shut it again, and tromped to the couch with his arms full of old, damaged books.

 

“The kid has something called _pneumonia,_ ” Sans said as he hurriedly sat down the books near the end of the couch. He did not look up as he palmed a particularly old text, and leafed through it.

 

“She needs rest and fluids,” He explained as he shoved the book in Papyrus’ face.

 

“Sans, She’s-“

 

“She’ll be fine, Paps,” Sans interrupted, and finally looked to the other end of the couch to see the child.

 

She was _awake._

The text slipped from sans’ skeletal fingers and landed with a dull thump on the carpeted floor.

 

“Kid!” Sans exclaimed, relieved. He reached out for her

 

But

 

Withdrew his hand.

 

She was screaming.

 

**…**

 

**Fear.**

**Recognition.**

 

**Hysteria.**

You bounded off of the couch and to the other side of the room, pressing your body flat against the wall.

 

The skeletons did naught but stare in shock.

 

They did not move as you bolted for the front door.


	7. Hyperborean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> only in your perspective this time.

The skin that was exposed to the deathly cold instantly became frostbitten and reddened. 

 

You ran through the snow like a fish through water; fluid, tidal, fleetly.

 

And like a fish, blindly.

 

You sprinted unknowingly through the obscurity that was Snowdin at midnight.

 

The snow froze your toes, 

 

But you ran.

 

Your exposed arms were scarlet,

 

But you ran.

 

Your chest hurt.

 

You ran.

 

And tripped.

 

You fell face first near Sans’ wintry sentry post, bottles of condiments lined up on the table like shot glasses on a bar counter.

 

You lifted your face from the snow, blinded and shivering fiercely.

 

Behind you, all was silent. An ancient part of your brain prickled at the sound of such quiet;

 

You instantly became alert.

 

Drenched, freezing, pneumatic, you crawled behind a tree. You were scared, lost, sick. Tired. You curled up near the trunk and shut your eyelids.

 

Death was enticed by your young soul.


	8. Renascence

The last etchings of warmth bled away from your torso as you lay hidden.

 

Surprisingly, fear of the void was not something that struck you; instead,

 

You were intrigued… Despite the circumstances.

 

No wind blew in the Underground. You noticed this as you looked upwards, searching for stars;

 

Of course, none were there.

 

You felt a surge of pity for the monsters, trapped beneath the Earth.

 

You sighed, a nearly invisible motion of your chest moving up and down, and let your eyes drift shut.

 

Was this the right thing to do?

 

You supposed that it…

 

Didn’t matter anymore.

 

**…**

Sans ran faster than Papyrus had ever seen him run.

 

He sprinted ahead, easily keeping pace with his younger brother, pupils dashing to and fro as he searched for Frisk’s body.

 

Papyrus, in a state of absolute panic, did not notice anything other than the flat-footed, human tracks in the snow.

 

Papyrus did not know much about humans, but he did know,

 

That they died easily.

 

Orange tears welled up in his eye sockets and he prayed to a long-defunct deity, mentally clapping his hands together, and whispered ancient scripture.

 

…He ran faster.


	9. Espy

It took longer for the brothers to find Frisk than they had anticipated.

 

When Sans finally caught sight of her, her lips were tinged midnight blue and he screamed for his younger brother, his voice taut as a wire.

 

Papyrus was on the child’s frozen body in a flash, scooping her up in a blanket and warming her with a bit of magic.

 

The brothers ran, Sans’ untied sneakers and Papyrus’ boots soaked with snow, but neither of them noticed nor felt the chill.

 

The Human was in serious trouble.

 

**…**

Papyrus was the first to reach their home and blasted the door open with his orange magic, tearing the doorknob and locks from the frame.

 

Sans flew inside after his brother, and immediately began to fill hot water bottles with warm water, making sure the temperature would not shock her immune system.

 

Papyrus laid Frisk on the couch and covered her, once again, with blanket after blanket.

 

By the time he was finished, the child was covered so heavily with throw blankets that she was buried.

 

Sans bolted back into the living room and wedged the hot water bottles between the blankets.

 

Papyrus could do nothing but slump to the floor and hold his head in his hands.

 

Sans stood and silently wept.


	10. Uhtceare

_Hwelc eart þū? Hwaet eart þū? Eart þū gelīc mec?_

 

 

What? What?

 

 

"Hello?" you asked, your voice dissipating into nothing. What was speaking? Or whom?

 

 

A melody drifted up and everywhere, old and bright, like glass. The thing speaking, though possibly human, it's voice was garbled.

 

 

Garbled and distorted.

 

 

Mē þyncþ þæt þū sculan gewinnan tō forlǣtan.

 

You didn't understand. The language was wrong. You tried to reach to something, anything, but you didn't have hands anymore.

 

**...**

 

 

You woke thinking about your strange dream. never once had you dreamed in another language, especially one that you had no recognition of.

 

Without thinking, you knew your location; the Skeleton brothers' roof loomed over you, protecting.

 

So they had found and saved you.

 

Your eyes drifted shut in a sudden burst of warmth towards the two monsters; foolishness had brought you to the brink of death, and they still cared enough to try and save you.

 

Good men, they were.

 

Your eyelids opened again when you heard a shuffling noise, and soon, Sans hovered over you.

 

His smile was true.

 

"Hey, kid," he said, his voice quiet as to not wake his young brother, "I guess those hot water bottles and meds were a screaming success, huh?"

 

You chuckled immediately, delighted to be treated to one of Sans' puns; in turn, his grin widened and his pupils grew brighter.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: What are you? Who are you? Are you like me? It seems to me that you have to win to leave.


End file.
